


something like regret

by conchorde



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Nightmares, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, brunch as a love language, klaus just wants waffles and to not see his dead family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:01:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conchorde/pseuds/conchorde
Summary: “Klaus,” his brother repeats. He points a finger at the doorway, at Allison. She opens her mouth in a soundless scream, and then blood spurts from her throat.[Or; Klaus takes several detours en route to brunch.]
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves & The Hargreeves
Comments: 9
Kudos: 235





	something like regret

**Author's Note:**

> my friend: are you channeling your primal need for waffles into fic  
> me: yes, yes i am  
> me: also, Making It Sad TM

“Come _on_ , Klaus,” says a petulant voice to his right.

Klaus throws the blankets over his head, blocking out the midafternoon sun streaming through the window. “Shut up, Ben,” he mumbles. “Not a morning person, remember?”

“It’s nearly three o’clock,” Ben says firmly. “You need to eat something.”

“That still counts as morning.” Klaus pulls the covers back a hair to glare at his brother. He is perched on top of Klaus’s dresser, arms crossed. “Shut up and let me _sleep_.”

“Get up.”

“No.”

“Get _up_ ,” Ben repeats, “or I’ll make you.”

Klaus lets his mouth drop open, feigning shock. “You wouldn’t _dare_ possess me before I’ve had my afternoon tea—”

“Try me,” Ben says, setting his mouth in a line.

Klaus groans dramatically. “ _Fine_.”

“Knew you’d come around,” Ben says. He leans back against the wall. “I’m thinking some eggs, maybe? Or some coffee?”

Klaus flips his brother off and flops over in bed. His legs tangle in the sheets as he rummages through his bedside table haphazardly. With a forceful yank, Klaus pulls the drawer open. Discarded candy wrappers fall to the floor.

Ben leans forward, suddenly concerned. “What are you doing? Klaus, you’ve been clean for weeks, don’t—”

“You can’t smoke eggs.”

Ben’s shoulders drop. “Klaus—”

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Klaus says. His fingers close on the lighter in the drawer. “I’m not gonna get high, all right?”

“You’ve been doing so—” Ben stutters. “Wait, what?”

Klaus lights a cigarette. “Can’t smoke eggs,” he repeats, sticking it in his mouth and taking a long drag. He looks over to his brother. Ben is still frowning. “ _What_?” Klaus asks, exasperated.

“I think,” Ben says carefully, “that you should think about quitting—”

“You win some, you lose some, Benny-boy,” Klaus says, waving a hand. He pushes himself to his feet. “At least these are legal.”

Ben frowns, but keeps his mouth shut.

Klaus grins. “Still thinking eggs, Ben?” he asks. He reaches for the long black coat with the rather atrocious fake fur lining he had discarded on the floor some time ago. (He’s pretty sure he stole it from one of his one night stands a couple years back. He likes the way it swishes when he walks. Plus, it has pockets. Sue him, okay?) He holds it up, takes a whiff. Not too ripe. He shrugs at Ben and pulls it on. He tosses on one of Allison’s floral skirts for the hell of it and makes his way into the hallway. “I was more…feeling pancakes, I think. No, wait. Waffles? How about waffles?”

“You know I can’t actually eat anything.”

Klaus waves his hand again as they traipse down the stairs. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

“I can’t drink anything either, Klaus,” Ben protests.

They step into the kitchen. Klaus turns on the coffee maker that Five bought the instant they returned to 2019. He then makes a beeline for the cupboards and throws them open. He stands before the shelves with his hands on his hips.

“Where the _hell_ is the pancake mix, Ben?” Klaus asks. Before Ben replies, he hears footsteps behind him. He glances back. “Oh, hi Allison,” he greets briefly before turning back to the problem at hand. “Thanks for the skirt, by the way. Hey, have you seen the pancake mix? Or—”

“Klaus,” Ben says, his voice barely above a whisper, and Klaus almost misses it.

“—or the coffee grounds or—”

 _“Klaus_ ,” his brother repeats, and Klaus stops.

He glances at him, annoyed. “What?”

Ben merely points a finger at the doorway. Klaus’s stomach drops, and he looks over. Allison leans against the doorframe. She looks a little more pale than normal. Her eyes are glassy. _That’s fine_ , he reassures himself. _That’s fine_.

“Are you okay?” Klaus says quickly, crossing the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” He tosses his cigarette aside and peers into her eyes. She doesn’t seem to see him, and his gut twists in panic. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Klaus reassures, hands fluttering over her. She flinches away before he can touch her. Klaus takes a step back. He swallows down the sting of rejection and pulls out the closest chair. “Why don’t you sit down, yeah? I’ll get you some water and—”

She opens her mouth in a soundless scream, and then blood spurts from her throat.

“Oh, my God,” Klaus manages. He ducks, whirling around, looking for the assailant. His pulse pounds in his ears, but they are alone in the kitchen. He turns back to his sister frantically. “No, no, no. _Shit_. Allison. Allison!”

She slumps forwards, buckling to the floor, just as Klaus imagined she had when Vanya had cut her throat the first time. She claws at her neck, face twisting.

“ _Allison_ ,” he cries, following her down. “No, no _nono._ ” He raises his head and yells, hoping his voice will project to one of his siblings. Ben said it was three o’clock. One of them must be around, right? “Diego! Five! It’s Allison, I—” he falters, staring at the blood seeping from her neck and onto the tile floor. “ _Help_!”

 _Medic_ , his brain supplies as the floor becomes slick with blood. _Medic_. _Where’s a goddamn medic when you need one? He drops to his knees and the mud is cold on his legs and presses his hands to Dave’s chest and the blood is coating his wrists and his sleeves and no one is coming and Dave is gasping and_ —

He shakes his head clear of the helicopters and the gunfire and reaches for his sister.

His hands pass through Allison.

“No,” Klaus whispers, and tries again. “ _No_.” His hands pass through her. “This can’t be happening.” He shakes his head in disbelief and tries again and again and _again_. “She’s can’t be—she’s not—” Klaus’s voice cracks. He looks up frantically at his brother. “Ben, is she—no, Allison, _no_ —”

Allison opens her mouth. _Klaus_ , she tries to say, and this isn’t Allison, not anymore. She reaches out for him with bloodstained fingernails. _Klaus_ , she mouths at him again.

Klaus scrambles back from his sister.

He backs out of the room, into the hallway, towards the stairs leading to the main floor, head spinning and heart pounding and _how does he tell his siblings and—_

There, at the base of the stairs. Klaus’s breath catches in his chest.

 _Luther_.

He lies on the ground in front of the stairs, something massive stabbed through his chest.

“Shit,” Klaus breathes, and rushes to his brother. It’s a pipe, the thing shoved through his chest. Right through his sternum, and there is something hot and wet on Klaus’s cheeks. He reaches forward, to press his hands to the wound. _Maybe, if he’s quick enough, he can_ —

His hands pass through Luther, too.

“Luther,” Klaus says, barely above his breath, but it comes out as a sob. _He can’t do this, he can’t bury a third sibling, he can’t._

His brother’s eyes roll to the back of his head, and then he sits up. The wound is angry and red in Luther’s massive chest, but he is unbothered. His eyes are unseeing. He reaches for Klaus with graying hands, and this time, the word comes out in a death rattle.

“ _Klaus_ —”

He pushes himself away from Luther, hands scrabbling on the stone floor. He thinks he rips a fingernail off. He barely feels it. Luther reaches for Klaus, and he runs before the ghost of his brother can say another word. He makes it up the stairs, somehow, tripping over his own feet.

He bursts into the foyer, and oh _God_ no, Vanya is on the stairs, and blood is pouring from her head and she’s reaching for Klaus, too.

“No,” Klaus says, voice strangled, and he keeps moving, even as Five— _little Five_ —stumbles through the front door, sweater stained full of blood.

” _Klaus_ ,” their voices call to him.

“ _Klaus_ ,” they say, and now Luther and Allison are there, too. They scream his name, reaching for him with graying hands, and their voices are too loud.

Klaus runs into the living room and slams the doors shut behind him. His breath comes hard and fast in his chest. He tips his head to the ceiling and tries and fails to catch his breath. His chest is tight and he cannot breathe through the tears streaming down his face and oh _God_ _they’re all dead they’re dead they’re—_

Wait.

Diego stands across the room, looking out the window. He spins a knife idly in one hand, and Klaus staggers with relief.

“Diego,” Klaus cries, and it barely comes out. He stumbles forward. “They’re— _Diego_ , they’re all—” He grabs for Diego’s lapel with an energy he doesn’t think he possesses. “Diego, _please_ , listen to me.”

Diego lurches as he turns around. There is blood on his chest.

“No, _no_ —”

His hands pass through his brother.

“Klaus,” Diego says, and his voice is emotionless.

“Klaus,” Diego repeats, and he speaks in time with his siblings at the other side of the door. Klaus thinks he hears their bodies hit the wood. Pounding. _Let us in_ , they seem to say. _Klaus, let us in_.

Klaus runs, launching himself over the bar in the back of the room. He huddles behind it, curling into himself. He pulls his knees to his chest and makes himself as small as he can and doesn’t listen to his siblings scream his name.

“Ben,” Klaus whispers, hoarse. “Ben, _God_ , they’re all dead, they’re all _dead_.”

“Klaus,” Ben says gently, and Klaus feels the air above his knee cool, as if Ben has placed his hand there.

“I need—” Klaus tries. His siblings scream, and he flinches. “I can’t hear them, Ben,” he sobs. “I _can’t_.”

He sticks his hands frantically in his pockets. _Empty_. He runs his shaking fingers along the lining. He must have some pills with him, he always kept some in this coat, he couldn’t have gotten rid of them all, he wouldn’t do that, _there has to be one somewhere_.

“Klaus,” Ben says again, and he finally stops his search and looks up, tearstained face and all.

Ben sits next to Klaus, his hand hovering just above his knee. He smiles. Klaus takes a deep shuddering breath, just like Ben taught him.

“Klaus,” Ben repeats, but the warmth is gone from his voice. Ben’s hand is still on his knee, his face impassively smooth, but oh God, oh _shit_ —

Ben’s chest is ripped open, just as it once was. Blood stains his shirt, his jacket.

“Klaus,” the voices of his siblings scream. “ _Klaus_.”

His heart pounds in his chest, in his ears. Horror crawls up from his stomach to sit on his tongue and wrap its hands around his throat and Klaus can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t—

* * *

He lurches upright in bed. Again.

“Klaus!” Ben says from across the room. “About time you woke up.”

Klaus flinches at his name. “No, no,” he mutters, shaking his head. The rain pounds on the window outside, and _no wait, that isn’t right, is it? That’s different from before._ He reaches to covers his ears anyway, and screws his eyes shut. “I can’t hear you, nope, _lalalala_.”

“Jesus, Klaus,” Ben says. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Klaus feels a cold spot on his shoulder and flinches away from the Ben’s hands as fast as he can. He looks up, frantically, and Ben’s concerned face stares back at him. Klaus shakes his head. “No, no, no _nono_ ,” he repeats. He glances at Ben’s chest. His brother is wearing the same dark clothes as always. Not covered in blood and torn open like his body was, all those years ago, but Klaus can’t get it out of his head. “You’re gone, Ben. You—you _left_.”

Behind Ben, Klaus’s door is closed, but Klaus’s stomach drops. _Oh_ _God,_ he remembers, and he feels his throat close up. _They’re all dead, downstairs, aren’t they_?

“I’m right here,” Ben reassures. “I’m not going anywhere. Talk to me, Klaus.”

Klaus shakes his head again and reaches frantically across his bed. His hands knock his alarm clock and his knitting needles and spent cigarettes to the floor. He pulls open the second drawer and there, _there_.

“Klaus, slow down,” Ben says, concerned. “Don’t throw weeks of sobriety out the window. Just talk to me. What’s going on?”

He tosses out pairs of old socks and unearths a tiny wooden jewelry box from his nightstand. “There you are,” Klaus says sweetly, hungrily. His skin itches. He looks up, at Ben. He can almost hear ghosts of his other siblings scream in his ears.

“Is that—”

“Teenage me had the right idea,” Klaus says, and a giggle bubbles out from his chest. He kisses the box. “Sobriety’s a bitch, Ben.”

“Klaus, no,” Ben pleads, voice frantic. “Don’t do this, don’t go down this path again, you—”

Klaus flips open the catch. “Come to daddy, that’s right, come to—”

“Come on, Klaus, talk to me, please.”

He stares into the box in horror. His heart drops. “Fuck, _no_.” He throws the empty box across the room and drops his head into his shaking hands. His chest aches. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t do it, Ben.”

Ben smiles halfheartedly. “That’s the right idea, Klaus, don’t—”

Klaus looks up at his brother, tears already streaming down his face. “One of you dead is enough. Right? Jesus _Christ_ , I can’t deal with this, I need to be high, I can’t see them again, not like that, I _can’t_ —”

He makes to stand, but Ben is there. Klaus knows he can walk right through him. He can go out the front door or the fire escape and into the nearest alley and get some wonderful, _wonderful_ pills and be blissfully happy and unaware and he won’t have to hear his siblings scream ever again.

Ben frowns. “Klaus, what—?”

Klaus sits back down, leaden. He rubs his trembling hands over his face. “They’re—they’re all dead, Ben.”

“No, Klaus,” his brother says carefully, shaking his head. “They’re not. They’re downstairs, making breakfast. Allison said she’s going to make waffles.”

“Of course, you can see them too, Ben, you’re dead,” he says mournfully. “ _I_ was going to make waffles.” He clasps his hands together tightly. “But I _saw_ them, Ben. Allison got her throat cut,” he begins. He can barely get it out. “Someone shoved a—a pipe through Luther,” he says, and suddenly he’s tripping over his tongue and the words just don’t stop. “I think someone pushed Vanya down the stairs and Five walked through the door and I don’t know what happened but there was so much blood and Diego got stabbed and you were torn apart again and—”

“Klaus,” Ben says gently, and Klaus flinches.

“They were all screaming, Ben,” he says quietly. “They were so loud. They were so—” He wraps his hands around his knees and buries his head. “I can’t do it again,” he says to his chest. “I _can’t_. Just let me get high. _God_ , let me get high, _please,_ and then you won’t have to worry about me and—”

“I always worry about you,” Ben says, and Klaus feels an arm around his shoulders.

An actual, honest-to-God arm.

Klaus looks up, and then Ben is hugging him, and he’s sobbing into his brother’s corporeal jacket.

“I can’t, I can’t, I _can’t_ ,” Klaus mutters the mantra into Ben’s shoulder between heaving breaths. “I can’t see them like that, I—”

“It was just a nightmare,” Ben says softly, rubbing Klaus’s back gently, and he shatters. “It was just a really goddamn awful dream.”

After an eternity, Klaus pulls away from Ben.

“What do you say, Klaus?” his brother asks, voice gentle. “Want to go downstairs?”

He drags the heel of his hand raggedly across his eyes. His throat is still tight. “I—”

“I promise, it was just a nightmare,” Ben says. “They’re downstairs. Waffles, remember?”

Klaus stares at Ben. “If—if they’re—”

“It was a nightmare,” Ben repeats. He holds out his hand. “If it—if it wasn’t, I’ll help you find the drugs myself.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Benny-boy,” he says, and with trembling hands, he grabs the same long black coat and same floral skirt as before.

* * *

His knees are shaking as he nears the last set of stairs.

He falters. “Ben, I can’t, I—”

“You can do this,” Ben encourages. “They’re fine.”

Klaus swallows hard and descends the stairs.

Halfway down, he catches a whiff of—of _something_. He sniffs. “Ben, is that—” Klaus stops. Inhales again. “That _is_.” He nearly trips down the last eight steps. “ _Waffles_ , Ben!”

Ben smiles as Klaus bursts into the kitchen.

And God, his family is _there_. They’re safe and sitting around the table and leaning against the counter and he can smell waffles and fresh coffee and syrup and it’s all he can do to stop himself from crying again.

“ _Oh_ ,” he sobs as he steps into the kitchen. “You made _waffles_.”

Luther glances over. “We planned waffles last night, Klaus.”

“It was your idea,” Five says, shaking his head. “You insisted.”

Klaus slouches over to the stove. “Oh, I remember,” he lies. Ben shakes his head at him from across the room.

“You sure about that?” Allison asks, raising an eyebrow. Her arms are crossed, a wooden spoon dangling from her hand. “We planned brunch, Klaus. _You_ were supposed to be on waffle topping duty.”

“Well,” Klaus says, and kisses Allison on the forehead. He steals the whipped cream, uncaps it. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” _You’re all here, now_.

“No, no, topping duty revoked,” Allison says playfully, pushing him away. She snatches the whipped cream from his hands before he can get a mouthful. “No sampling before the waffles are done.”

Klaus pouts but lets her have it. He strides across the room, nudging Luther’s shoulder awkwardly as he goes, and steals Five’s cup of coffee from his hands.

“Hey!” Five stands indignantly. “Give that back.”

Klaus waves a finger in front of Five’s face and pulls the coffee out of reach. “This is too much caffeine for your tiny body. Better let me handle this.”

Five rolls his eyes and pops across the room in a flash of blue light to get a new mug.

“Ben,” Klaus says under his breath. “I got you coffee.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Can’t drink it, Klaus.”

Klaus shrugs and downs half of the cup. “Your loss,” he says, and flings himself into Vanya’s arms.

“Klaus!” Vanya half-shouts, setting down her orange juice before it spills. She smiles. “What is up with you?”

“What?” Klaus asks innocently. “Can’t give my sister a hug?”

She chuckles as he detangles his limbs from her chair and sits down in an empty one to her left. Over at the stove, Allison smiles at them, and Klaus catches Five and Luther doing the same out of the corner of his eye.

 _They’re safe_ , Klaus thinks, and lets a smile cross his face. _They’re safe and it was just a nightmare and—_

“Wait,” Klaus says suddenly, sitting up. He clutches Five’s cup of coffee tighter. “Where’s Diego?”

Vanya waves a hand. “He heard some police radio scan a bit ago and wanted to check something out.”

Klaus scoffs disbelievingly. “He’s still doing that shit?”

“Can’t stop that man from going and saving the day,” Allison says, shaking her head. She pulls some waffles out of the maker.

“He said he’ll be back for waffles,” Luther chimes in.

Klaus lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He sits back in the uncomfortable kitchen chair. He takes a sip of Five’s coffee and lets his siblings’ conversations and the scent of freshly cooked waffles wash over him. Content.

Then:

Diego staggers in the kitchen doorway. His hair and clothes are soaked. And—oh _god_ —

“Klaus,” Diego says, and Klaus’s blood chills.

“Diego!” he says, and he jumps up as fast as he can. “Wh—what happened?”

Five gives him a dirty look from across the table and steals his coffee cup back. “What are you talking about, Klaus?”

And Klaus’s heart drops through his chest.

He gestures weakly to the door, to Diego, standing there, bedraggled. “He just walked in, guys. He’s soaked and it looks like he’s—”

Allison purses her lips. “Diego’s not back yet, Klaus.”

“Wh—what?” Klaus says blankly. His brain stutters. _No._ His heart responds, though, pounding in his ears. He waves towards the door again. “What do you mean? He’s right there, he’s right—”

“No one’s there, Klaus,” Luther says, and Klaus can’t breathe, can’t think, oh _god_. “Are you okay?”

Klaus shakes his head, backing away from the table. “I’m—I’m not high, I swear.”

“No one said you were,” Vanya says gently. She places a hand on his wrist and Klaus flinches, pulling back.

He looks around the room frantically, at his siblings’ blank stares. “You can’t see him?”

“Klaus,” Diego says again, and he hasn’t moved. He’s staring right at Klaus and Klaus can’t do this, not again, he _can’t_ —

“Hey,” Vanya says to Klaus, voice small, “are you all right?”

Klaus shakes his head again. Eyes wild, he looks across the room and finds Ben perched on the counter. “Ben, I—”

Ben follows his movements, concerned. “He’s here, Klaus,” he says. “I promise you, he’s—”

Klaus closes his eyes and his hands are shaking again. He knows his siblings are speaking to him, the cacophony of noise is rising and a distant part of his mind registers that he’s smelling the waffles burning and Vanya spilled her orange juice onto the floor, but he just—he _can’t_. He reaches into the pockets of his jacket and runs his fingers along the lining and _god_ this is just like the dream isn’t it? _Shit shitshitshit,_ _he didn’t get rid of every last pill, did he_?

He looks up at his brother, and he’s trying not to drown. “I can’t, Ben, I—”

“Go to him!” Ben urges. “He’s alive and well and _here_ , I promise you, Klaus.”

“Klaus,” Diego says again, and _does his voice sound different?_ and Diego is reaching for him, and _why does he look concerned, ghosts don’t look concerned_ and water is pooling on the floor underneath him and is that _blood?_

“No, no, no _nonono_ ,” Klaus mutters, his hands going to his hairline, his eyes, his ears. He doesn’t—he can’t do this, not again, _how can he tell his family another one of their siblings is dead_?

“Klaus, no, it’s—it was a—” Vanya tries, but Klaus barely hears her.

He shakes his head resolutely and tries to make the words come. “It’s—it’s Diego,” he says, the words tripping on his tongue. He tries not to look at his siblings, at the horror that must be crossing their faces. Oh, _god, no, it can’t be true,_ _he can’t do this, not again._ “He’s— _goddamnit_ —he’s—”

“Go to him, Klaus,” Ben shouts. “He’s right th—”

Ben’s words are lost as his siblings erupt. Allison reaches for him, something like regret pooling in her eyes, waffles forgotten. Vanya sighs, biting her lip and shaking her head. Luther frowns and makes to stand. Ben is saying something and Five pops across the table in a flash of intense blue and their voices sound concerned and sad and anxious, but all Klaus can see is Diego.

He steps past his siblings to the door. Diego’s eyes follow him, and he moves forward, shaking his head. Words flow from his lips, too, but all Klaus can hear is the words from his dream, the _Klaus, Klaus, Klaus_ , that devolved into screams.

Klaus is crying— _it’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true_ —as he reaches out for Diego and—

Diego is solid. Warm. A little damp, but whole.

“Wh—what?” Klaus stammers. He looks up. Diego has a crease between his eyebrows, the one he gets when he’s trying not to cry. Klaus closes his eyes and his hands flutter over Diego’s chest and arms and shoulders. He’s warm. He’s _alive_. “What the _hell_?”

“I told you he was here, Klaus,” Ben says softly.

Diego pulls Klaus into a hug, and it’s so tight that Klaus can hardly breathe, but it’s okay. It’s fine. Diego is _here_. He’s not dead. He’s _not dead_.

“I’m so—sorry,” Diego says softly as he pulls Klaus back.

Klaus wipes at his cheeks with his sleeve. “I don’t understand.”

“It was meant to be a joke,” Allison says hesitantly. Klaus whirls to face her. She bites her lip and stares at the waffles on the table. “A prank. Like when we were kids.”

Klaus laughs, and it’s more of a sob. “You thought—” He stops. Closes his eyes. “You thought this would be _funny_?”

“No,” Vanya starts. “It wasn’t—we didn’t mean—”

“We’re sorry,” Luther says, and his voice is open. Honest. “We didn’t think—”

“We didn’t think,” Five cuts off solemnly. He pops over to Klaus. “It was a shitty thing to do.”

Klaus laughs again, because he can’t do anything else. He sinks into the closest chair. “A—a prank is, I don’t know, putting a rubber band on the sprayer in the sink! Or a fart balloon or—or, why not, spraying someone with whipped cream!” He looks at his siblings helplessly. “Not—not pretending you’re dead,” he says quietly, sinking lower into his chair. “Jesus _fucking_ Christ. You don’t think I don’t see enough goddamn death?”

They all stare at each other, and Klaus takes a deep, shuddering breath, just like Ben taught him.

It’s silent for a long moment, then—

 _Beep_.

They all jump about a foot into the air.

“ _Shit_ ,” Allison breathes, and the tension breaks. “The waffles.”

Five pops over and unplugs the waffle maker. Luther and Diego grab towels and waves them under the smoke detector, but it’s too late.

The sprinkler system hisses on.

“Really?” Luther says, exasperated, as water begins to rain down from the ceiling.

Ben rolls his eyes. “Oh, well done.”

“Jesus Christ,” Vanya mutters. She wipes water from her face.

Allison ducks under the table. “Does anyone know how to turn this off?”

“On it,” Five and Diego say at the same time, then glare at each other.

Klaus just starts to laugh. Not the sobbing laughter from earlier. No, this comes from his chest. He feels the weight of his siblings’ stares, but he can’t bring himself to care. He turns his face to the ceiling and lets the rain pour on him and laughs and laughs and _laughs_.

_They’re all here. They’re all safe. They’re getting rained on in their own goddamn house because they burned the waffles and they’re a bunch of idiots._

Vanya chuckles then. Ben smiles, and Diego shakes his head, but Klaus can see the smile forming on his face, too. Then Allison grabs Five and spins with him in a circle and a laugh peals out of Luther and then they’re all dancing together as the sprinkler rains freezing water down.

“Well,” Klaus says as the water finally turns off. Dripping wet, he flops back into a chair and pushes his hair out of his face. He pokes at the soaked food on the table in front of him and looks up at his siblings. “I could still go for a waffle.”

“I’m not cooking again!” Allison protests, wringing out her shirt.

A smile crosses Vanya’s face. “How about that diner on the corner of fifth and eighth?”

* * *

The diner is tiny. The tables are packed together—Luther knocks over three chairs just getting to the back—their shoes stick to the floor, and it has a sickly-sweet aroma that could have been brought on by only years of greasy food. The wallpaper is atrocious and the service is worse.

They pile into a corner booth where there’s barely enough space for all of them: Diego elbows Klaus in the ribs and Vanya kicks Allison in the shins twice. There’s only four sets of silverware for the six—seven—of them. The coffee tastes like sludge.

It’s the best goddamn waffle Klaus has ever had in his life.


End file.
